No Punchline
by Leztah
Summary: Smile, and the world smiles back at you. This is the downward spiral of a good man.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Slam!

Black helmets and bullet-proof vests bearing sub-machine guns stormed through the rotting door. A radio transmitter crackled in the background, "Secure the perimeter." The men rapidly scanned the room, pointing their weapons in every nook and cranny.

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

"Clear…"

"…And where the hell is Gordon?"

The room was empty, but even the most seasoned G.C.P.D.'s Special Weapons And Tactics Unit officer knew that it was too late. There was a stench in the air. The room itself was a mess, like a whirlwind had blown through it. The door showed signs of a forced entry. An empty cartridge lay in the center of the room, followed by a trail of blood dragging onwards to the back. The vase lay smashed on its side, water spilling all over the black grand piano. The lilies lay trampled upon the floor.

The room was an annexe to Gotham City's seediest strip club. Every lowlife here had made it their haunt at some point of time in their miserable lives. The flickering neon sign at the entrance was missing two letters. The stripper's breasts sagged. A cloud of pungent smoke hung low over the entire bar. 'The Red Lion' used to be a public house, the middle class working man, and the occasional aristocrat, would visit to escape the drudgery of normality. Now, it served as the headquarters of one of the city's many crime lords, Boss Marconi.

Rumour around G.C.P.D. was that Marconi had called the entire family to a 'sitdown', right from the buttons to the street soldiers. This wasn't just another mob meeting; you don't bring in the entire Costra Nostra for nothing. This was special. Apparently, there was a new cat in town, who's taking over the city, one turf at a time. Crime bosses were being knocked off in the most grotesque of manners.

There were stories going around about things being done to the bodies. Ugly things. Things that got the otherwise tough criminals shit scared. One story was that the entire Benzini family was found with their eyeballs attached to springs, that popped out of their empty eye sockets. The cops found another family with smiley party hats on and their genitals stuck in their mouths like party whistles.

Things just weren't going well for Gotham City's organized crime. The new face had the entire underworld spooked. Drastic times commanded desperate measures. Old enmities were forgotten and new alliances were forged. Today's meeting was to seal such an alliance.

The room had a small door at the back, which opened up to a flight of stairs that spiraled downwards. It led to a basement, where the meeting was to take place. Two of the SWAT team members stood on either side of the door with their backs to the wall. Guns tensed, ready to blaze at the slightest hint of engagement. They both nodded to each other, and to the rest of the team. A third officer kicked opened the door, his gun following his foot. The other followed quickly. As they entered, they were met with an acrid smell, like a chemical experiment that went horribly bad.

The stairway was dark except for a few parts where few wall mounted red stained glass lanterns lit up their vicinity. The places that were lit held more horror than the darkness. There was blood and flesh matter sticking to the wall. Someone's brains got plastered. That someone lay motionless on the floor a few stairs lower. The team rookie puked his guts out. The rest turned their flashlights and laser pointers downwards and kept moving.

The stairs creaked under agile feet. The team was trained to handle these kinds of situations. They were experts in stealth, precision and the rules of engagement. They were an elite force, the pride of a regressing police department. But nothing they had experienced could prepare them for what lay ahead.

The stairs ended at the entrance of a small passage that had two bouncers guarding on wither side. Only, these two lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Their eyes stared motionless at the officers' shoes. Their cheeks were gutted across the sides to stretch the edges of their lips from ear to ear. Vomit crept up the rookie's throat again. Another officer immediately reported a case of multiple homicide and the current body count.

The men past by the bodies. The passage led to a larger room. A giant table stood weakly in the center. A ceiling lamp hung low. The room was furnished for a long and tiring meeting. Whiskey bottles lay opened on the table. Cigar ashes spilled out of the ashtray onto the mahogany wood.

The invitees lay motionless on the table. One of them had blood oozing from the nose. Marconi himself sat upright at the head of the table, his head hung down. The SWAT team leader walked up to him and lifted his head with his gun. The moment he saw his face, he dropped his gun.

The meeting had been interrupted. The family died an unexpected and torturous death. Each of them had wide open eyes, dilated pupils with yellow pus oozing out. But what was most monstrous were the garish smiles that their lips had twisted into. They had died laughing.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter ****1**

_1 Year Earlier_

The standup comedian was trying his best to hold his audience's attention. His biggest competition was the bar next door which seemed to hold more cheer than his jokes.

"So there were these two guys at a lunatic asylum, right? They don't like living there, so they decide to break out of their cells. They get to the roof, and just across the gap, they see rooftops of the town, stretching away into the moonlight. Stretching away to freedom. Now, the first guy, he jumps across with no problem. But his friend, his friend, y'see, daredn't make the leap. Y'see he's afraid of falling. So then, the first guy, he has an idea. He says, 'Hey, I have my flashlight with me. I'll shine it across the gap between the buildings. You can walk along the beam and join me. But the second guy, he just shakes his head. He says, 'What do you think I am? Crazy? You'd turn it off when I was half way across."

The audience wasn't laughing.

'The Jester' was one of the last few comedy stores that managed to survive Gotham City's economic degradation. Most of the others were torn down to make way for bars, casinos and the like. Housing was a problem that the City's Council overlooked. It was like this part of town lived in a perpetual era of Depresion. Among all of this, The Jester still fought on to hold on to the few bright moments that gave people a reason for their pathetic existence.

The comedian stepped off the stage. The manager walked up to him.

"Jack, what the devil's wrong with you? The audience out there isn't laughing with you. They are laughing at you."

"I'm sorry Mr. Norrington. I'm trying my best…"

"Your best? Your best ain't good enough Jack. Those people pay to be entertained, not to be put to sleep. Watching you 'try' is like watching paint dry on a fuckin' fence."

"I'm sorry. I messed up the punch line. Please give me another chance. I'll work hard. New jokes. More laughs. I promise."

"I'm sorry Jack. I'm afraid it's out of the question. I can't give you another slot this month. Nor the next month either. It's just bad for business. Face it, Jack. You're just not funny enough."

Jack Napier walked the long black alley home. He lived in a bleak part of Gotham called the Burrows. A place for people who lived on the fringe of society. Druggies, thugs, unemployed ex-army men. On an average, there was a case of theft reported everyday in this place. On a bad day, a case of rape. On an even worse day, murder. Jack hated it. But that was all he could afford right now.

He passed a newspaper stand as he walked by. It stacked the morning edition of the Gotham Globe. The mid-day edition of the Daily Planet was left untouched. Jack had once planned to move to Metropolis with his wife and start life afresh. But things didn't work right for them.

The Globe's headlines screamed, 'Bruce Wayne Back From The Dead'. Apparently, the last surviving member of the Gotham's first family and the 7th most richest person on the Forbes Power List was back from a long soul searching hiatus.

For a comedian, Jack sure had the looks. A lanky, tall frame, topped by a funny lock of hair that never seemed to sit still. He had a rather elongated face with a pointed jaw, with an almost piercing chin. His eyes had a strange lost, emptiness in them, that filled up with colours from the stage lights. Jack always wore his favourite purple tweed coat, when he was on stage. He said it made him look funnier.

Jack wasn't always the funny guy. A brilliant student at high school, Jack graduated from college with a major in chemistry. The money came from the insurance that his deceased parents had saved up for him. They passed away in a mob shootout. Growing up at his aunt's place didn't do much to take away the sorrow. And as the city grew grim, he felt this shroud of sadness envelope him everywhere he went. All he wished for was a reason to be happy.

Soon after graduation, Jack found himself a job as a chemical engineer at Ace Chemicals. The company was on the expansion phase to beat its rival, Wayne Material Sciences. He met a beautiful girl named Jeannie. She understood him, and all that he was going through. She was the only one who could. Jack felt happy when he was around her. After a few years of courtship Jack married Jeannie. Still, he couldn't seem to shake that inner gloom away.

The bland nature of his job didn't hold any delight for much long. After much debating and argument, Jack decided to quit his job at Ace Chemicals, to follow his heart. The only way he felt, to shake off the cobwebs was to follow his one true calling. Jack always dreamed off the stage, and so, he started off as a stand-up comedian. Although Jeannie didn't think much of it, she never stopped supporting her husband. For once, Jack felt like he had done the right thing. Being on stage, making people laugh made him feel lighter. The job didn't pay as much as the previous one, but he took it up with much enthusiasm. He liked to see people cheerful, and it brought him happiness as well. He felt like his only goal in life was to put a smile on each and every face. A smile that would last forever.

Jack took up every such job that came his way. From regular evenings at The Jester, to dressing up as a clown at childrens' birthday parties, he took them up with equal gusto. But as the city started its slow degradation, the audience at The Jester decreased. Parents preferred celebrating their children's birthdays at Metropolis, sometimes even at Central City. Those places could guarantee happier moments than Gotham. With every passing day, work was getting difficult to find. Jack had second thoughts about his job. He even tried approaching the management at Ace Chemicals. But they were losing out to the ultra-dynamic Wayne Group and couldn't afford to hire anybody. In order to make ends meet, Jack and his wife moved to the Burrows.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The door swung open on a single hinge as Jack drifted in.

"Honey, I'm home."

He knew his voice couldn't hide his gloom. Yet he tried to hold back the pain. The years didn't do too much good for Jeannie. Working at a diner with Metropolis-bound truck drivers leching at her wasn't her idea of an ideal job. But it was all that she was cut out for. Jack knew this and kept all of his sorrow he bred away from her.

"Hi Love", Jeannie said, "How was your day?"

"It went well."

"Really? 'Cause your face don't seem to say that."

"Honey, believe me."

"C'mon Jack. I know you're hiding something. Don't you even trust me?"

"Honey, please…not now."

"No Jack. You need to start talking to me…about whatever shit that's bothering you. I tell you every little goddamn thing I do. And still I know so little about you, and what you do…Your life to me is just blank."

"Constantly talking isn't necessarily communicating", Jack said.

"What? What the fuck does that mean? Huh? You're the one who's all tight lipped."

"Honey…c'mon"

Jack held her by her shoulders trying to sit her down on the stool. She didn't.

"No Jack. You better explain yourself. I wanna know what that meant."

"Jeannie…"

"No Jack, not this time."

"Please…"

"Jack, now!"

"Alright!, I got 'let go' off today! Jesus fucking Christ! Are you happy now? Does that fucking satisfy you? Huh?"

"Oh…"

Jeannie finally sat down.

"Oh? Is that all that you can say? I work my ass off. Make me look like a dumbfuck in front of kids and dead people and the whole world. I lose my job and all you can say is 'Oh'?"

"I'm sorry Jack. I didn't know about it. You didn't say-"

"Oh, you gonna make this about my shit now. Is that what you gonna do?"

"This isn't about your shit Jack. It's about us."

Jeannie choked up while wiping her moist eyes.

"Really? Like I fucking didn't know.'

"Jack, we need the money!"

"YOU need the money. That's all you talk about. About shit's missing and the money's missing. Have you ever thought of what I do to put bread on the goddamn table? Have you?"

"Jack, please listen to me…"

"You're nothing but a selfish bitch, who's only worried about stuffing her mouth."

"Jack…"

"I hate you. I fucking hate you!"

'Jack, I'm pregnant!"

The words hit Jack point blank. His entire skeleton came tumbling down. His job, pride, the manager, the clothes, the house, himself, nothing mattered anymore. His knees hit the floor, eyes glazed. Lifeless arms reached across Jeannie's waist as he placed his head in her lap and did something he hadn't done in a long time. He cried.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It had been 5 months to the date that Jack lost his job. Since then, much changed in his life, as in those of the many other inhabitants of Gotham City. After the Fear Toxin Immunisation Programme, fresh polls were announced for the office of the District Attorney. A bright young attorney named Harvey Dent, who had just won a major trial against Luthor Corp in Metropolis was leading the public polls by a landslide. His upright, strict and honest approach towards cleaning the city earned him many enemies within the G.C.P.D.

Gotham National Bank, in its first ever public-private collaboration with Wayne Finance initiated an investment and account management service that allowed marginalized citizens to invest in mutual funds. This directly benefited small scale firms, elevating the city's socio-economic condition. Wayne Industries went public, and almost overnight turned private, with its then CEO Mr. Earl shown the door.

Along with a crackdown on crooked cops, organized crime itself witnessed an overall decline. This could directly be attributed to the after-effects of the Fear Toxin, although believable sources and courtroom snitches had another story to tell. They spoke of flying demons and horned monsters that had a taste for crime-stained blood. Similar stories also sprung up around Arkham Asylum. Dr. Harleen Quinzel, a renowned psychiatrist and author of the book, 'The Best Medicine', who had dedicatedly toiled at the Asylum for as long as she could remember, conducted extensive research on Jonathan Crane, the mastermind behind the Fear Toxin. Crane allegedly dumped massive amounts of paranoia inducing chemicals into the city's water supply pipes in an insane experiment to study the effects of fear on people. In her published and much-talked about report, 'The Scarecrow Effect', Dr. Quinzel recommended laughter therapy over traditional counsel groups as a method to combat the symptoms and effects of the Fear Toxin.

Jack's life was equally elevated, if not greater. After being laid-off, he started a personal regulatory system, where he budgeted every personal expense. He skipped a meal a day to provide for Jeannie. A kind old lady at the church that Jeannie went to, helped them by sending food and clothes to their house whenever she could. Jack never went to church but gratefully accepted the lady's generosity. He respected his wife's faith and would never do anything to trample upon it.

With laughter clubs and riot houses gaining a sense of importance, Jack found himself employed at 'The Clown Prince'. The pay wasn't phenomenally lucrative, but then beggars can't be choosers. Jack worked hard on his lines. Everyday, he would wake up before the sun to practice in front of the mirror. While the rest of the lot went the slapstick comedy way, Jack looked inwards for inspiration. His brand of humour had to be funny, yet real. Searching his emptiness, he found exactly what he needed to achieve this. Jack fashioned a whole new stream within the black comedy genre by incorporating sarcasm and a feeling of pathos in his jokes. It would make people laugh and then think real hard about what they laughed at. This deep-rooted sense of reality within humour gained him much fame and notoriety within standup comedy circles. The Clown Prince and Jack Napier became almost synonymous and seemed to merge as one living, breathing, laughing organism that served as an inspiration to playwrights and struggling actors.

Jack saw himself slowly rising in popularity and power. His dreams were on their way to reality. Now he didn't have to skip meals anymore. Life was finally blessing him. He could now take his wife to a decent restaurant once every week. Together they started saving up for a bigger house in a better part of town. Fate seemed to smile upon him, as it does when it has designs for one.


End file.
